


Cold Case: The Stephenson Murder

by TheEnduringStoryteller



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Book Sherlock, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Detectives, Gen, Modern Sherlock, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Sherlock, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3741661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEnduringStoryteller/pseuds/TheEnduringStoryteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was bored, incredibly bored. That is, until he met a strange older man in foggy London, who brings life to a previously dead case.</p><p>((Sherlock acts more like he does in the books, except this is set in the modern era. This is a great story for those wanting to read more about our dear Sherlock solving mysteries as only he knows how.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Case: The Stephenson Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the tags for warnings.

London, England was incredibly foggy on this particularly eerie evening. The ordinarily bright white lights of the bustling city were being consumed by the gloomy clouds hovering above the ground.

Sherlock was seemingly immersed in the scene before him, his fingers steeples, as was his traditional position when he was contemplating something.

Meanwhile, Watson had just entered the room. "I don't know where all this fog came from, it was sunny yesterday." He commented.

"I'm going to be out for a few hours." Sherlock muttered suddenly and grabbed his coat off of the couch and left the flat.

Watson sighed and glanced at the mess of papers left behind to give him some sort of clue as to where his friend was headed.

. . .

Sherlock, his posture upright and his eyes squinting to try and see through the fog, was actually very uncertain as to what his end goal was, for once.

There hadn't been a fresh case for months, which caused the consulting detective to dabble into cold cases. Unfortunately, they weren't just cold, but freezing, and he was beginning to become very frustrated. And even worse than that, bored. Incredibly so.

And this is why he had decided to go out and find his own mystery to amuse him. (Though, he very well knew the statistical improbability of that happening...)

There was little noise except the occasional passing car or screeching siren, or the lights buzzing from above.

The tall man walked further down the streets, until a small dark figure came into his view. Apparently, he wasn't entirely alone admits this strange weather and he wondered why...

Thinking that this was exactly the thing he needed to lift his spirits, he walked faster.

"And... It's a bird. A mindless animal." He sighed and sat down on a bench by the entrance of a park. 

Suddenly he felt a light hand tap his shoulder and he turned to look at the person who was previously hidden by the fog.

"H-Hello, are you Mr.. Holmes?" Asked an elderly old man, who was leaning on a cane of some sort and had grey hair that was covered by an old brown hat.

"That depends... Will you kill me if I say yes?" Sherlock quipped.

The elderly man chuckled. "No, no, I just um... I have a problem and, well, I heard you're good at 'em."

Sherlock cocked his head, clearly intrigued. "Yes I am. What sort of problem do you speak of?"

"Well... umm.." The man coughed pitifully for a few moments, then looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, my lungs aren't what they used to be."

"Quite alright." Sherlock responded politely, but swiftly.

The man continued. "My name is Frankfort Brown, and my good friend was murdered a year ago. No one knows who did it though... They told me there wasn't enough evidence." He said sadly.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes I know, I looked into the case myself, there wasn't a trace."

"But I know something. I tried to tell that-that other fellow, but he wouldn't listen to me!" The man explained, becoming increasingly frantic.

Sherlock didn't look surprised, and responded positively. "Come, tell me what you know." Sherlock said, and walked with the older man.

 

. . .

 

Meanwhile, Watson had been writing about Sherlock's boredom. Which might seem odd to the average person, but Watson saw it as an intro into their next case. Whenever that was.

Suddenly, as if someone had been listening to his thoughts, Sherlock happily burst through the door.

"Finally! A murder, Watson, a murder!" Sherlock explained with a single, excited clap of his hands.

"Please tell me you didn't commit it." Watson muttered.

"Very funny. No. It's dried blood but I have a lead. Miss Avery Madison." Sherlock said, and whipped the laptop out, and began looking up her information. (Since it was too late to visit her tonight.)  
"Hmm... Apparently a maid for the Stephenson household..." Sherlock muttered, thoughtfully.

After a few minutes of Sherlock silently examining her information and photo on the internet, Watson could sense something was troubling the detective. "What is it Sherlock?" Watson asked.

"She's poor."

Watson blinked a few times in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"She's poor Watson. Her home is in a poor area, she obviously doesn't go anywhere upscale. And yet... Her earrings are polished, clearly. Old ones at that. Over three years..."

"Perhaps she's sentimental for them." Watson offered.

"No, no. They're studs. Plain, silver, studs. Nothing inherently special about them, yet they are clean in this picture.." Sherlock leaned forward and peered at it. "Freshly cleaned."

"Maybe she just wanted to look nice. Women like to feel special." Watson chimed in.

Sherlock grunted in disapproval. "Yes, people are petty at times, but my instinct has never been wrong before. No matter, it will have to wait until morning." Sherlock said, and shut his laptop.

"Morning?"

"Yes. We are going to surprise Miss Madison with a good morning greeting." Sherlock said with a mischievous smirk, and left to his room to get some sleep.

 

. . . .

 

At five o'clock in the morning a loud, pounding of a fist onto a townhouse door was heard. The source, coming from the great consulting detective, of course.

"Miss Madison?!" Called the deep voice. "We need to ask you a few questions!"

Watson did not look amused by the loud noise at the dawn of day. "Sherlock, really?!" John whisper yelled. "Must you be so obnoxious?"

Sherlock ignored his friend and continued knocking. "Miss Madison?! It is of the utmost importance that we speak to you!"

Watson crossed his arms over his coat covered chest, the cold winter air causing his nose to redden. "It is a woman's home you know, she's probably fearing for her life with you going on like that." John scolded.

"H-Hello?" Came a soft voice from behind the door, clearly nervous. "Who are you?"

"I am Mr.. Sherlock Holmes." 

"And, Dr. John Watson."

"Oh, um... What do you want?" The woman responded hesitantly.

"We wish to speak to you about the murder of your former employer, Mr.. Stephenson." Sherlock explained.

The woman then unlocked the chain from inside the door and let the two men inside, and invited them to sit on her couch, which was quite homely, as well as everything else in her abode. 

Sherlock's eyes darted a few places, and gathered precious data.

The woman waited awkwardly for Sherlock to ask her a question, while he seemed to be off in another world. 

To stop the silence, Watson spoke up.

"So, um.. How long had you worked for Mr.. Stephenson?"

"About a month before the incident, not a day after it." The blonde haired woman answered, nervously flattening her jean skirt.

Suddenly Sherlock got up and examined a picture frame on the shelf by the television and looked concerned before looking at other things as well.

"Did you like working for him?" Watson asked.

"Mmm... Not really. He was gone a lot, and his wife missed him. All us staff had a feeling he was doing something illegal.." Miss Madison said timidly.

"How so?" Watson asked while Sherlock's ears seemed to perk up.

"Well, he always was on edge, and sometimes, he'd yell at us. He would get these strange calls from people that would make us leave messages like, six blind mice, and five red flames, four... um... four black roses.. We figured they were death threats. I started to feel sorry for him then... But not so sorry because he brought this on himself. I only felt sorry for the children and his poor wife... She deserved better than living like that.." 

"Thank you Miss Madison, that will be all." Sherlock said swiftly and headed for the door with John following.

"Well you were charming." John said with sarcasm.

Sherlock ignored him, so Watson went on.

"Why don't you think she came forward for the police?" John asked.

"Did you notice her twitching fingers, the dust on the shelf, her jagged fingernails, bitten off. Definitely not a picture of health. She obviously didn't want to talk about it, scared out of her mind. Perhaps she was involved in something illegal herself.."

"And the other staff?"

"Had been there for years, generations, even. In the police report they claimed that they knew nothing; they probably didn't want to shame their long time employer's name." Sherlock explained.

"I suppose you're right." Watson agreed while Sherlock hailed a cab.

"Taxi!" Sherlock called and a black cab pulled up.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"To pay Mrs.. Stephenson a visit." Sherlock said, then ducked his head and entered the cab.

"This early?" Watson questioned, and entered the cab as well.

"It's a ways off, we'll be there around seven." Sherlock explained.

. . .

As the cab drove up to the large, white, mansion upon a hilltop, Watson admired the clear glass windows and the modern architecture. "Hard to believe a murder took place here." Watson murmured, partially to himself.

Sherlock let the comment go over his head and opened the door once the cab had stopped and walked up to the large white doors of the house.

Watson rang the door bell and a dog promptly voiced his thoughts on the matter.

A middle aged woman, very tired, and of average height, opened the door. "Hello, what can I do for you gentlemen?" The woman asked, a little confused, but not threatened.

"Who is it mom?" Asked a teenage boy from upstairs.

"I don't know Andrew." The woman called back.

"Are they here to talk about dad?" The boy asked, hoping someone would take up their case again.

Sherlock nodded once to the woman, and she let them inside and lead them to her dinning room, where they all sat near each other at the long wooden table. 

"You're detectives?" She questioned.

"Well, he is. I'm a doctor." Watson explained.

"I'm a consulting detective, but there hasn't been much need for my consultation so, I've decided to take up your case." Sherlock explained professionally.

"I see.." The woman said with a faint, and hopeful smile. "It's been nearly a year, we'd thought we would never find out what happened.." The woman sighed.

"I just have a few questions, if you don't mind." Sherlock said, more cordial to this woman, for his own reasons.

Mrs.. Stephenson nodded in consent.

"Do you know of anyone who would want to kill your husband?" Sherlock asked gently.

"No. And that was the problem. ...He was gone a lot though. I overheard some of the rumors going around amongst the staff from time to time. I didn't want to admit it but... Maybe they were right.." She said sadly.

"Did he partake in any risky behavior that you know of, such as gambling or drugs?" Sherlock inquired.

She shook her head fervently. "No, not at all! He hated drugs, his father died because of them. And he wasn't one to gamble, he told me, 'Janice, go for the safe, steady way if you want to make money. Do something you know people want and will always want.' " She explained.

Sherlock cocked his head slightly in interest. "When did he say that?"

Janice shrugged. "When I was dating him in college. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do at first, I told him I might want to be a poet." She said with a soft chuckle, then cleared her throat. "But, luckily, he talked me out of it."

"Hmm..." Sherlock murmured, mulling over the idea for a moment before standing up and extending his hand for her to shake. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you, Janice, thank you for your time."

"No, thank you, Mr.. Holmes, and Dr. Watson." Janice said with a grateful smile and shook his hand, then Watson's.

 

On the drive back to their flat, Sherlock explained his theory. "He was an assassin, or, was."

"Why do you say that?" John asked curiously.

"There was a case much like this in the ninety's about a man receiving death threats in this way. It never was solved, but it was traced back to an un-named underground group at one point, that hired assassins and gained money from clients. Everything has been done before, little is new." Sherlock explained.

"Incredible." John stated.

Sherlock continued. "Inevitably, Mr.. Stephenson fell in love, -who knows why he would allow himself- then settled down, wanted to focus on his career, which had previously been a front for him. And, unable to shake his past, he still had jobs to do as an assassin. Apparently, he was neglecting it and they weren't happy about it..."

"So.. One of them killed him?"

"Possibly, but not likely. Not unless one of his "friends" especially hated him, but even so, they wouldn't risk disobeying orders. It was a count down, clearly, giving him time to complete the job. (No one likes to cover up a murder.) But he had time left. He was killed too early.. Four black roses." Sherlock explained.

"Then what are we going to do?" Asked the ever curious Watson.

"Talk to a few friends of mine." Sherlock said with a smirk.

 

. . .

 

That evening, when the sun had already been overtaken by the moon above, Sherlock and Watson were walking down the back alley's and seedy parts of London.

Sherlock had been walking quickly, with those long strides of his, until he found someone he had expected to be there and stopped in front of him. A man with a shopping cart filled with random things such as a large water jug, a painting, a scarf, and a large dark blue blanket over the cart.

"Hello again, Jim. How do you fare?" Sherlock said with a friendly tone and slipped the man two twenties.

"Good, and you?" The man asked with a gravely voice.

"Not so well, actually. I wonder if you know of any... suspicous characters that tend to hang around these parts, who have been seen doing illegal activity, member of a group." Sherlock asked calmly.

"Mmm... What kind of activity?"

"Murder." Sherlock responded evenly.

The man took a deep breath and looked up in thought before shaking his head no. "Sorry, I haven't, just thieves, mostly." The man replied, and shakily pulled the two bills out of his pocket.

Sherlock shook his head. "Keep it." 

The man smiled and said softly, "Thank you sir."

Sherlock nodded once, and the grungy, older man went on his way.

"Hey, you." Called a woman's voice.

Sherlock looked around for the source, the echo in the tunnel making it hard for him to trace it.

"Down, left." The woman's voice directed.

Sherlock found her immediately and walked over to the woman sitting down against the wall with a cloak covering her face a bit.

"Yes?" Watson said.

"I know a group like that... If you got money." The woman insisted.

"The information first, I'm good for it." Sherlock assured firmly.

The woman nodded, and seemed to accept that answer, and continued. "They call themselves, the Black Knights. They go around "righting wrongs" for people. You got robbed, cheated, or betrayed? These people will find and kill whoever did it, and they specialize in making it clean too."

"How do you know this?" Sherlock asked, his eyes unwavering.

"...I thought of using their services once... But I backed out. The guy I asked got shot though, so, they didn't know I knew about them." She explained.

"Do you know where I can find them?" Sherlock asked.

"Don't worry, if you get into something they're involved with, they'll find you." She warned.

Sherlock nodded with a grin. "Great! Saves me time. Here." He said, and handed her the money.  She took it gratefully and said her thanks as she held it in her hands.

 

"Let's go." Sherlock said to John, and they headed back to their flat.

. . .

Watson opened up the front door and turned on the lights to reveal a muscular man, all in black, who was sitting on an arm chair and sharpening his knife.

The bald headed stranger motioned to the couch with his knife and Watson swiftly walked over and sat on it.

"I'd much rather stand, if you don't mind." Sherlock declared.

The man shrugged. "I don't mind. I can still kill ya standing up."

"Did you kill Mister Stephenson?" Sherlock asked. "Just thought I'd get that out of the way." He quipped.

"No." The man replied with an even tone.

"As I suspected." Sherlock murmured to himself.

"Look. I'm gonna make this real simple. You lay off this case, or I'm going to kill the both of you." The man threatened darkly.

"No... Actually you won't." Sherlock said smugly. "Because, you and I are both looking for the person that killed Mr.. Luke Stephenson."

The intruder sat up a bit in his chair, looking alert.

"Someone interrupted what you, or someone else might have done, and you want them dead."

The man simply nodded once.

Sherlock paused for emphasis then said, "I'll find the killer, and then you will have your target. We would have both caught our prey, and that is an excellent gain, for both of us." Sherlock said with a smirk.

"You have five days." The man replied and left the flat.

"I only need one." Sherlock said with a grin, once the man had left.

Meanwhile, Watson was fuming. "Sherlock! How could you do that?! This person is a murderer, granted, but they have a right to a fair trial!"

"Oh calm down Watson, I was only fooling a dummy. And um, you." Sherlock said and typed away, researching, then looked online at the yellow pages. "Ah ha. I was right."

"I don't understand." Watson said, eyebrows furrowed.

"We're out of suspects John! Who's left?" Sherlock exclaimed frustratedly, while he dialed a number on his phone.

"I don't know."

"We've interviewed everyone but the people who weren't working there anymore. And the phone number Mr.. Brown gave me- Yes hello?" Sherlock said into the phone.

"Who are you calling?" A very flustered Watson asked.

"The elderly man, Mr.. Brown, the informer." Sherlock explained, with his hand over the speaker for a moment; his mannerisms exuding excitement. "Yes, this is Sherlock. My colleague and I would like to meet you at- ... Yes, that's fine. Ok. Bye."

Sherlock hung up the phone with a tap of his finger and ran out the front door. "Come on Watson, there isn't a moment to lose!"

Watson sighed and followed the detective out the door and locked it behind him.

 

. . .

 

It was a much clearer evening, which both Sherlock and John were quite thankful for.

Sherlock was practically bouncing in anticipation and rubbed his hands together to warm them from the freezing cold.

And, a few minutes later, a very timid Mr.. Brown slowly began walking towards them from his previously hidden position in the shrubbery of the park. 

"Ah there you are, the former maid." Sherlock called, receiving a very perplexed look from Watson.

"Mr.. Brown" slowly straightened upright, though still looked very wary.

"Come now, Elizabeth, no need to be scared. You wouldn't have gone through all this if you didn't trust me." Sherlock pointed out and she walked a bit faster until the petite woman was face to face with the tall detective.

"Excellent disguise, I must say." Sherlock complimented, while she slowly took off the latex, makeup, wig and contacts.

"You... You aren't an old man." Watson said incredulously.

"Excellent deduction." Sherlock said mockingly. "No. She is not. She is a very frightened young woman, who has a lot of explaining to do.." 

"I'll tell you everything Mr.. Holmes but, I'd much rather have it be somewhere safe." The woman replied meekly.

"And warm!" Watson exclaimed when a chilly wind harshly blew past them.

Sherlock nodded and put an arm around her. "Of course."

...

Now back at 221b, Sherlock allowed her to get dressed in her normal attire (that she kept in her briefcase) then sat in his armchair and waited for her to begin.

The woman had dark brown hair, brown eyes light skin, and currently, a nervous expression. "It happened like this... I received the last message for Mr.. Stephenson. Four black roses. I told him right after I took the message that I didn't feel right not telling Mrs.. Stephenson about his problem, if not that, I wanted to at least call the police, or you... He refused, and became very upset with me. He said I was just a maid, and that it wasn't any of my business. And, maybe it wasn't... But we just all cared about them so much I wanted to help. So, I tried to tell him again that he shouldn't keep these secrets and-"

"He attacked you?" Sherlock said as more of a statement than a question.

The young woman nodded. "Indeed he did Mister Holmes. I think some of his old ways started to come out again... He put his hands around my throat and began choking me. I was so scared, I just didn't know what to do! I didn't want to hurt him I just... I'm sorry..." She said, and covered her face with her delicate hands, crying quietly while Watson put an arm around her to comfort her.

"There, there, my good woman, you needn't worry, it was self defense and nothing more. You aren't a murderess" Watson assured.

Sherlock frowned and awkwardly handed her a tissue. 

She gently blew her nose then threw it in the trash bin next to her and continued. "W-We were in the kitchen so I g-grabbed the first thing I could."

"A knife." Sherlock said, with an odd excitement in his eyes.

The woman nodded pitifully. "I took away their father, a-and now Mrs.. Stephenson is a widow.... I just can't believe it."

"Why didn't you inform the police?" Sherlock asked, though, he was fairly sure what the answer would be.

"The man, Lestrade I think, he said I was just an attention seeking woman, and clearly the murderer was another person. The facts were all there, he said. He thought it was a suicide. I tried to tell him that Mr.. Stephenson might have used his revolver for that but he would have none of it." She said with frustration.

Sherlock huffed in anger. "That idiot. He is the one man that couldn't get a confession right!" He looked Elizabeth straight in the eyes. "You are as Watson says, a good woman, and, more importantly, a clever one."

"More importantly?" John questioned but Sherlock went on.

"For only a clever woman could come up with a plan to prove to both detective and jury that she was guilty. And only a good woman would have the motive to, despite the risks it imposes." Sherlock said honestly, as he stood up from his chair.

Elizabeth smiled gently, still somber from the whole ordeal, yet happy that she had somehow gained the respect of Sherlock Holmes, and that they both believed her to still be an honorable woman.

"About those stud earrings though." Sherlock mentioned. "Do you know perchance why Miss Madison had polished them recently? They were in a picture of her's on the internet."

Elizabeth shrugged. "She's always done that, she likes to feel special I think."

John looked at Sherlock smugly. "Chalk that up as a point for Watson."

"So what's the score then? One to a million?" Sherlock countered.

John shook his head in disbelief with a laugh. "You just can't admit it when you're wrong can you?"

"But, if Sherlock had known that he was wrong, before I confirmed he was wrong, is he wrong at all?" Elizabeth chimed in, always happy to take her mind off of things.

"Hmm..." Sherlock muttered. 

"Well, while Sherlock contemplates that, why don't we all go out to dinner? I'm sure Sherlock will want to help you with your trial." Watson offered and Elizabeth nodded.

"Technically, I would be initially wrong, then right about being incorrect, so it depends on which issue-" The ever thinking Holmes rambled.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "Dinner?"

"Oh! Right, yes, very good. I don't mind you by the way, you're interesting." Sherlock said as a side note to Elizabeth as he grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

John looked amazed. "That never happens. He must really like you." He chuckled.

Elizabeth smiled fondly as she followed John down the stairs, knowing that she was in safe hands as long as the great Sherlock Holmes was on her side.

 

* * *

In the end, Sherlock was able to close the case and prove that Elizabeth was only guilty of self defense. So convincing was he, that even the Stephenson family had forgiven the woman, and Elizabeth finally felt free to go about her life, as best as she could.

Sherlock never did forget about her though, as she gifted him with an interesting puzzle in his eyes, and stayed in contact with the clever woman as days passed. Especially when John had become busy with a wife. And they were both happy to have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Did you see the plot twists coming? I surely hope not! I'd love to see what you thought of my little mystery story. ^^


End file.
